No,those were crazy thoughts. If there was any confusion it was on my part only.Hadn’t we already established my absence of recent dates? Hell, my lack ofsocial life period? I was exhausted and burnt out from working my ass off. Andfine, maybe I was a little desperate for attention. But that didn’t mean Ineeded to throw myself at Wyatt—the very last person that would ever be interestedin me.
“Satisfactionfor a job well done?” I suggested, turning my voice as platonically bland aspossible.
Iexpected him to roll his eyes or throw out an insulting barb. Instead, hisvoice dipped even lower and he murmured, “When it comes to you, Ky,satisfaction seems impossible.”
Ilet out a sharp exhale as he walked away from me toward the two stations I’dcleaned. What was that supposed to mean?
Isucked in my bottom lip and caught my teeth on the small hoop piercing in mylip while I watched him squat down and examine my work. Was that an insult? Itfelt like an insult.
Italso didn’t feel like an insult. It felt weird. I felt weird. And like someonehad popped a bottle of champagne inside my body.
Wyatt’sstrong, tattooed hands moved equipment around, checking every nook and cranny.I watched him work, leaning back against a stainless-steel counter and crossingmy arms over my chest. Typically, I would have immediately thrown somethingback at him. But at this point, in the wee hours of the morning, I didn’t haveit in me. Instead, I stood there like an idiot waiting for him to findsomething to snipe at me about.
Heexamined everything with a meticulous eye that I wanted to hate. Or at leastresent. But I couldn’t. He had to be this thorough, this strict. It didn’t makeworking for him any easier, but at least this part of him I could respect. Itkilled me that he’d been given his job without so much as a consideration foranyone else in the kitchen. Okay, maybe he wasn’t horrible at it. I wouldn’t goso far as to say he deserved the job but he worked hard for it.
Icould be an honest, rational person and admit that.
Heturned around and caught me staring at his back. He didn’t flinch or call me onit. Instead, he retaliated with a slow perusal of my body. Starting at my Doc Martensboots and working his way up my body, pausing almost imperceptibly at my boobsthat were pushed up in my tank top thanks to my folded arms. I shivered. Anddidn’t call him on it.
Titfor tat. That’s how we played.
“Didyou wipe down the sous vide?” he asked, all business… all dark, mysterious man.
Shit.I glared at the machine. This was part of Dillon’s station and I hadn’trealized it until now. Although now that he’d pointed it out, I had to admit itwas obvious. I swallowed the bitter taste of pride. “I forgot…”
Iexpected shouts and curses and frustration. Shockingly, he lifted one shoulderand said, “All right. I’ll deal with it.”
I belatedlytried to hide my surprise. “It will only take me a minute,” I argued. “It’s myresponsibility.”
“No,it’s Dillon’s responsibility.” I opened my mouth instinctively to defend myfriend, but he cut me off before I could get any words out. “It’s late, Kaya.Don’t argue with me. Go home and go to bed.”
Myspine straightened, and I felt the irrational sting of his dismissal. Thenormal part of my brain immediately threw up its hands, warning me to backdown. He wasn’t trying to be mean or pushy. He was doing something nice.
Butthat was where the emotional, sometimes illogical part of my brain stepped in,full of suspicion and serious crazy. “It’s fine. I should have done it before Ibothered you. Not a big deal.”
Heshook his head and I could see frustration spreading through him. “I know it’snot a big deal. That’s why I’m going to do it.”
“What?Are my standards not high enough for you?”
Hisexpression darkened. “Is that what I said? I’m trying to be nice. You have towork tomorrow.”
“Sodo you.”
“Forthe love of— Woman, you’ve got problems.”
Aburst of anger exploded inside me, like a firecracker exploding. Not the wholebig show, just one singular Black Cat. A crackle of gunpowder and quick rage.“Yeah, no shit. My problem is you.” Even though I was furious with him, thiswas more familiar territory for us. We were back to normal and so, even in myinsanity, I breathed easier. And for some reason that made me braver thanusual. Stupidly brave and dangerously cocky. I poked him in the shoulder andsaid, “You’re my problem, Wyatt.”
Itwas the second time we’d touched tonight and, like before, that charge ofelectricity snapped through the air and shocked my exposed skin. I tried topull away, but he was faster than me, snatching my hand in his bigger,stronger, rougher one.
“Irealize that, Kaya. The whole fucking kitchen realizes it.” He stepped closer,his hand closing around my wrist and managing to make me feel tiny and delicateand overwhelmed all at once. “So how about when I’m trying to be nice, you letme.”
Lickingdry lips, I examined the emotion in his intense eyes, wondering if he wassincere or if I was unwittingly walking into some master trap. And while I wascontemplating my next move, the demon witch that sometimes possessed my body,and more specifically my mouth, took control and the argument I’d been wantingto have for hours fell out unchecked. “Only if you let me finish the ducktomorrow night. Mine’s better and you know it.”
Hisjaw ticked, and I struggled to swallow. He was so close. He’d shed his chefcoat like I had, leaving most of his tattooed arms and neck exposed. The thint-shirt he wore did nothing to contain the body heat radiating off him. And forsome reason he smelled good. Too good.
We’dbeen working for hours, trapped in this sweltering kitchen, surrounded by allkinds of food and spices. He should smell like grease and sweat at the end of along, hard day. Contrarily, he smelled like fresh herbs, lemon peel, and thefaint, woodsy scent of whiskey.
Iran my tongue over my bottom lip again, suddenly feeling inexplicably thirsty.
